That Horrible Feeling
by Jackson Hanning
Summary: Russia's heart grew cold as the other reacted not as he hoped, but just as he feared. He felt himself begin to tremble as he held the flowers out, stuck in his stance of hopefulness that was slowly crumbling away...


_**Hey everyone! It's Jack again! So, this is a oneshot my sister wrote and asked me to post. It is based on a roleplay that she is doing on Facebook. It's pretty boss. My feels are dying as I stalk-er... follow it. Yeah. 'Cuz I'm not a stalker. (Honhonhonhon!) SO READ AND REVIEW! :D **_

_**-Jack**_

* * *

It was mid-afternoon, on a Saturday. Not a holiday or anything – it was certainly beautiful out for a November in Washington D.C, the cold weather nipping at your nose and ears, the sky a clear blue, only dotted with a few clouds – But there was nothing necessarily special about this one Saturday.

Except for a certain Russian, his off-white hair swaying in the breeze and his scarf wound tightly about his neck. This Saturday was definitely important to him. He was wearing a nice suit, and as he knocked on the door slightly nervously, he shifted something behind his back to further obscure the object inside his large hands.

"Amerika?" He called unsurely. "…Are you home? There something important I need to talk to you about…"

After a few seconds of waiting, the Man heard a thumping inside the house before a click of the lock was heard and the door swung open, revealing a young man, probably in his late teens, with honey-colored hair and a slightly rumpled Captain America t-shirt on, munching on a granola bar and straightening his thick hipster-like glasses on his face.

"Hey Russ- Whoa. Dude, you look spiffy," he said, grinning. "Somethin' wrong, dude?"

The 'dude' in question blushed slightly, straightening up and clearing his throat, adjusting his own thick black eyewear.  
"I know there is a lot of hate and negative feelings between us... it has been that way for many years.. and yet, I... I found myself more and more... ah…" He started off, looking extremely nervous and small for once in his life. "What I am trying to say is…" He looked up, collecting his thoughts.

"I hoping maybe... Well, being a Nation is very lonely, and so many others are finding someone special... And I think that, my heart says... I still hating Amerika but..."

The thing behind his back was revealed; as a bouquet of beautiful sunflowers was thrust in the other's direction as he looked straight into the younger's sky blue eyes.

"Alfred. I love you."

Alfred blinked. The words that had just come out of the other's mouth didn't make any sense whatsoever. Sure, they had been getting along lately, and maybe the animosity between them had lessened quite a bit, but years of fighting and anger issues and insults back and forth couldn't just be... forgotten.

Could they?

...

No. Russia was the type to play games, and he would never hesitate to the possibility of toying with the other's feelings. He was probably kidding. Lying. Like he always did.

He understood Alfred's horrible problem, the one he had just recently discovered - the spark that he felt whenever their bodies touched, the affection behind the 'commie bastard' nickname.

He remembered the messy kiss in the middle of the night, the one that wasn't necessarily forgotten in a drunken haze.

And he was joking.

The normally obnoxious and loud nation gave the other a blank look.

"Okay."  
Russia's heart grew cold as the other reacted not as he hoped, but just as he feared. He felt himself begin to tremble as he held the flowers out, stuck in his stance of hopefulness that was slowly crumbling away.

"A-Alfred?" he tried. Maybe the American didn't hear him correctly. "I know it will be hard, but… I really thought…" his voice cracked, the cold was coming.  
Alfred's eyes were wet. Why were they wet? He knew the other would never return his feelings. So why... Why were there hot tears spilling over his cheeks? Heroes didn't cry. So he would let the tears fall, but... He had to keep his face blank...

"I get it." He said, monotone. "You don't like how close we've been getting. So you want to pull me in even closer and then push me away and destroy me completely, huh? Is that what you want?" He angrily wiped a salty tear off his face. "Well it aint gonna work, Russia. I'm used to your tricks by now!" his voice cracked, and he hiccupped painfully.

"DAMMIT IVAN, HEROES DON'T CRY!"  
Russia's trembling hands dropped the flowers. Was America… crying…?

Why were tears all the cold Nation could ever get out of others?  
"Nyet… Alfred… that not…" What was he supposed to do? He felt himself unconsciously reaching out for the other nation before he stopped himself, hands falling to his sides, clenching into fists. "I not know when it happened… maybe the cold war, maybe before. I denied feelings for so long… I stay away because…" he stared down at his hands, a terrified look on his face. "All these hands ever do is hurt the ones I care about. First it sisters, and Baltics, and oh god Toris… I did such terrible things to Toris…"

Russia was shuddering now, his knees feeling weak. He had never told anyone these truths before, how much it destroyed his insides. "I so scared of being alone again… I thought this time maybe… maybe I could try again. But already I…" he trailed off, face twisting in sadness. "Part of me love to see your tears Alfred. And I hate myself for it. But another part of me… not want to see you cry, ever again."  
The American grit his teeth, almost painfully so. This was a lie. It had to be. This was one of those love stories that ended with tragedy, like in the Hollywood films he was so proud of. The main character getting his heart broken and trying to move on. How cliché.

…But this kind of emotion from the other nation was extremely unexpected. The usually jubilant and cheerful man was not only shaking right there, his face contorted into an expression that looked as if he was in great amounts of pain (as well as sadness) but he was obviously having some kind of internal battle - the likes of which America could, but didn't especially want to understand.

So he was stuck between two extremes. Giving up… Or giving in.

Tears still falling down his cheeks in a hot waterfall, he managed a clear question.

"Why? Why do you love me, then?"

It sounded childish and stupid, but that was the only thing he wanted to know. And if Russia had been fooling with him up until this point, Alfred would be able to tell. And The words caused the Russian to pause; everything in his mind coming to a halt as the question resounded over and over in the recesses of his mind. Slowly he looked up at the other Nation through blurred eyes, his face at first blank, then displaying a spark of hope before twisting into that of confusion.

Why do I… love him?

The thought had occurred to Ivan many times, yet he never actually considered the reason, shoving it away because it only caused his head to pound.

"I…" he paused, desperately trying to collect his thoughts. "I do not understand myself. It not make any sense… I hate everything about you. And yet… yet…."

The large Russian let out an extensive sigh, staring at the American longingly. "Love not something controlled, no matter how hard I try in past. Despite all negative feeling… I constantly crave your attention, even if only to look at me with hateful eyes. Whenever you around, I feel like person, like equal, you never fall no matter how many times I push… and when you true-smile… it give me warm feeling inside."

Ivan shook his head, looking at the other desperately. "Nyet, this not making any sense… maybe I lying to self… But even if love not there… I… I still want to try. I not want to be alone anymore. And my heart… it act crazy whenever you are around."  
Alfred was frozen in place. You'd think... Someone like him, the loudmouth, the obnoxious know-it-all, would have something to say in an instance like this. But when he opened his mouth, the words that he wanted and needed to say... Weren't there.

But he knew at this point there was no lie in the other man's words. There was no ferocity. No tension, no anger. The Russian was calm.

And he had just poured his soul out to Alfred on his doorstep, crushed, worn-out sunflowers resting by his feet.

So, of course he didn't have any words. But one thing he could do with certainty was smile his most honest, happy, and loving smile he had ever given.  
Russia was anxious as he watched the other's reaction, his breath refusing to work until it was all released, the built up tension melting into warmth as Alfred smiled at him.

But as the other Nation uncharacteristically refused to speak, Russia felt his cheeks flush yet again, embarrassed that he had said so much out loud, and unsure what to do next. Still keeping his violet eyes on Alfred, the large Nation bent down slowly, picking up the sunflowers carefully, fixing them the best he could. He began to hold them out to America again, but paused, bringing them closer to himself.

"Al-Alfred..?" he tried, voice quieter than usual. "I not know if you want these anymore… but I think they still good, even after falling on ground…" the Russian nodded to himself, offering the flowers.

"And…" Ivan shuffled uneasily. "I understand if nothing can happen between us… but if you want to try…"  
Alfred finally knew what the horrible feeling in his heart was.

And as he interrupted the other man's sentence by pressing his lips to his, he realized... That feeling wasn't horrible at all.


End file.
